


Love on the Weekend

by cheezy_wheezy



Series: Love on The Weekend [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Anniversary, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Early Mornings, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Freckles, Gallavich, Holidays, Husbands, Implied/Referenced Sex, Injury, Kissing, Love, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Married Life, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Morning Routines, Party Games, Post Season 10, References to Depression, Romance, date, married, mentioned lip/tami, mentioned sandy/debbie, playful, waking up together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheezy_wheezy/pseuds/cheezy_wheezy
Summary: Mickey Milkovich loves Ian Gallagherdrabbles about happy husbands in love
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Love on The Weekend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128533
Comments: 28
Kudos: 270





	1. I can't believe I get to see your face

Mickey Milkovich loves Ian Gallagher’s stupid face…

It’s the first thing he’s going to see every morning now, and maybe he can admit that it’s something he looks forward to with his whole heart. Ian’s nose always crinkles a little bit as he stirs awake, and his eyebrows furrow as though he’s confused as to what’s happening.

Mickey watches as this happens mere inches from his own face. He can’t move any further away— Ian’s got his body pinned under a giant ass octopus arm, but he probably wouldn’t even if he could.

It’s summertime, so the room is fairly light despite the early hour, but Mickey really doesn’t mind because summer is his favourite time of the year. It’s definitely because he hates freezing his ass off in his shitty winter coat, or having to stomp snow off his boots every time he wants to enter his own damn house, and absolutely nothing to do with the fact that all the extra sun exposure let’s the freckles on Ian’s face bloom in all their glory.

His eyes always attempt to start counting them when they’re this close, but they inevitably get lost trying to keep track. They’re a little bit chaotic, just like Ian, spread hazardously and indiscriminate across Ian’s cheeks, nose and forehead. Mickey likes how they make him look younger, like when they first started up. He never got the chance to admire Ian’s face up close back then, when his freckles were ten times as vibrant and abundant, and sometimes he curses his past self for not taking control of the chance. But he remembers conjuring them up in his mind whenever he was alone at night, his own personal constellation that he could pretend to map out whenever he needed to get away from the disaster of the Milkovich household.

Ian’s eyes blink open slowly, squinting at the small beam of light peaking under the curtains behind Mickey’s head before burrowing his face into Mickey’s arm to avoid the glare, grumbling in faked annoyance. Mickey knows it’s faked because he can feel the way Ian’s lips are slightly upturned against his arm, and that his eyebrows are no longer furrowed, but relaxed, content.

“Hey, wakey wakey Cinderalla, my arm’s going numb under your giant ass,” Mickey grunts, playfully shaking the arm Ian’s claimed as a pillow.

Ian lets out a tired groan as he burrows further into Mickey’s arm.

“It’s Sleeping Beauty” he murmurs in a distorted voice, muffled by Mickey’s body.

“What?”

“It’s Sleeping Beauty, not Cinderella.” Ian says this as he rolls over onto his back a bit more, eyes sparkling teasingly at Mickey through their sleepy haze.

“You’ve got your princesses all wrong, Mick.” He punctuates this with a soft kick to Mickey’s leg under the blanket.

“What the fuck ever bitch. You’re the grown ass man with a PHD on Disney Princesses.” Mickey grumbles as he wiggles the arm still trapped under Ian’s back, but failing to regain his claim to it.

Ian chuckles bodily at that, eyes falling shut lazily as his head falls back against the pillow, humming softly. The light’s falling softly across his face now , making his eyebrows glow like embers and his freckles blend in to the glow of his skin. Mickey can’t help but run a finger along his cheek, attempting to retrace the dots being drowned in the light.

Its soft and quiet for a long moment, both of them just basking in the early morning calm. Mickey continues to stare at Ian, outlining the features he has memorised already, has had memorised since they were kids, even if they have changedsomewhat over the years. They’re the features he thinks of when he needs calm, comfort or even passion.

Ian Gallagher’s dumb, smug, beautiful face could always entice a confusing mix of emotions in Mickey. It just so happens he’s become reliant on them.

After a while Ian reaches out for Mickey’s hand, which is cupping the side of his face as he rubs slow circles into the juncture of Ian’s jaw with his thumb, and brings it up to his lips to press a soft, barely there kiss to Mickey’s knuckles.This causes Mickey to sigh audibly, as Ian continues to press his lips gently against his hand.

Ian’s eyes peak out beneath his lashes, and they’re practically glowing under that beam of sun, squinting softly so that small creases form on the sides.

_God I fucking love summer_ Mickey manages to think through his haze, grateful for all the glories a little bit of sun can do to Ian Gallaghers already loveable face.

The squint lines by Ian’s eyes shift into ones that indicate a smile, which is still hidden behind Mickey’s knuckles, as Ian finally presses a firm kiss to the band around Mickey’s ring finger. He then lifts himself up onto his side, finally freeing Mickey’s arm which had started to go numb 10 minutes ago, in order to lean down and press his lips to Mickey's.

The kiss is still soft and brief, but when he pulls back Ian’s whole face is glowing, this time with no help from the sun.

Mickey thinks he’s going to say something sappy like “I love you” or “I’m so happy right now”, which he has been saying a lot lately, not that he’s complaining, but what comes out is even better.

“Pancakes?”

Mickey grins and cups Ian’s cheek to pull him into another quick kiss before he replies.

“Fuck yeah.” Because he loves pancakes, and because it’s the start of a new routine which surrounds the fact that he’s going to spend the rest of his life waking up to Ian Gallagher’s stupid, wonderful face.


	2. And I'll be dreaming of the next time we can go into another serotonin overflow

Mickey Milkovich loves Ian Gallagher’s excitement…

They’re running down the street as fast as they can in their slightly inebriated states, stomachs full from the burgers they’d devoured like starving men. Mickey’s starting to run out of breath, but he can’t help the boisterous laughter that explodes from his chest every few minutes, either brought on or closely followed by Ian’s own wild laughter.

“Shit Gallagher!” He gasps after they’ve run for nearly ten minutes, feeling his lungs ache in that familiar way they did when he would run from the cops as a teenager.  
He grabs Ian by the arm and playfully shoves him into an alleyway to their right, partially because he’s really not as fit as he used to be, but mostly because he can’t smother the need to manhandle Ian a little bit with all the adrenaline that’s in his veins.

“The fuck are we even running from man, we lost those assholes like five blocks back,” he laughs into Ian’s shoulder, as they playfully wrestle further into the alley.

They’d made their get away from the bar they’d been eating at as soon as they’d noticed the group of three men’s demeanour change from smug to homicidal when they’d realised Mickey and Ian had been ribbing them on. Whatever, fuck those homophobic pricks and them asking patronising as fuck questions in an attempt to demean their obviously romantic dinner.

“Shit did we even pay?” He pants out, shoving Ian back slightly, so he bumps into the wall.

Ian drops guiltily for a second, before returning to his out of breath laughter.

“Fuck Mickey! We totally forgot to pay!” He mimics Mickey’s shove, so they’re both leaning on opposite walls of the alleyway grinning and panting at each other, staring with a slightly crazed energy building between them.

Ian’s the first to break, laughing hysterically in painful bursts, clearly just as out of breath from their get away sprint. And it’s probably not that funny, in fact they should probably be a little more concerned that they just broke the law while on parole, but they’re both kinda-pretty drunk, and they’d just spent the whole evening flirting and laughing with each other, so the high they were on was understandably steep.

“So much for staying on the fuckin’ straight and narrow, _bitch_.” Mickey says as he shoves off of the wall to get into Ian’s personal space.  
“Guess we’ll have to resort to a life of crime,” he punctuates this by licking a long stripe up Ian’s neck, who inhales sharply at the sensation, “go on the run again…”

Mickey lifts his head so his lips are hovering over Ian’s, breath fanning across his face as he feels Ian tense in anticipation. Mickey leans forward slowly, and as Ian moves to close the gap, he swings his head out of the way and targets a tickle to Ian’s side before jumping away back towards the street.

“Hey!” Ian shouts in fiend injury, but he’s grinning painfully wide as he runs after Mickey down the street, attempting to grab at the back of his jacket.

Mickey lets out an exhilarated whoop that reverberates through the empty street, savouring the lightness and energy thrumming through his body. Even though he can feel himself physically tiring out, that adrenaline continues to fuel his excitement, keeping him running towards home, Ian following close behind him.

They’re only a couple blocks away from the Gallagher house when Ian manages to snag the hood of Mickey’s coat, causing him to come to an abrupt stop, coughing a bit at the choking sensation. Ian swings himself around so he’s in front of Mickey, and immediately gets into his personal space, foreheads and bellies touching as he backs Mickey up onto the wall of an apartment block, just out of the light of the street lamps.

“Fucking tease,” he murmurs breathlessly against Mickey’s lips, and it’s his turn to tense in anticipation, holding his breath. Thankfully, Ian seems to be feeling much kinder than Mickey was in the alley way, because he wastes no time crashing his lips onto Mickey’s.

It’s passionate and slightly painful, with too much teeth because neither of them can stop grinning, hands grabbing tightly to whatever body part is near and available. It heats up quickly, until Ian is lightly grinding onto Mickey, and he’s lifting himself higher to better feel the sensations. It’s only when Ian snakes a hand between them to palm at Mickey’s bulge that he shoves Ian away lightly, wiping at his mouth and attempting to dial down the smile that’s starting to hurt his cheeks.

“Alright, keep it PG Casanova.”

Ian chuckles at him and takes a moment to straighten himself out, looking around a little nervously to see if anyone had been watching them. When he’s seemingly deemed their encounter private, he looks back at Mickey, eyes more soft than playful as they had been all night.

He reaches out a hand towards Mickey, which he automatically grabs and pulls himself forward with so they’re shoulder-to-shoulder as they continue their way back home. They keep playfully bumping each other as they go, but their hands stay entwined the whole way home, staying silent as they send each other shy flirtatious smiles.

Mickey’s unlocking the front door when Ian swoops down to press a firm kiss to his cheek. When he looks up at him, he’s simply staring softly, fondly, at him, before he leans forward and sets a similar kiss on his lips.

“Thanks for the date Mick,” he whispers after they’ve parted.

Mickey grins and turns back to the door, accidental felony or no, it really had been a fucking awesome night.


	3. I hate your guts 'cus I'm loving every minute of it

Mickey Milkovich loves Ian Gallaghers somewhat infuriating family…

It's family games night, a new tradition made up by Debbie to promote ‘family bonding’ and ‘better communication’ or some shit. All Mickey knows is it’s fucking loud and crowded, and by the end of the night all the adults will be drunk, the kids high on sugar, and his head will be hurting from having to participate in conversation and civility.

But Ian loves it, and Mickey’s loath to admit it, but he sometimes, maybe, has fun when all the Gallaghers' and Balls' and whatever other additions are present all get together for a good time.

Ian’s insisting they dress up a little bit this time, to put on a nice t-shirt and jeans instead of the almost week-old sweats they’d been wearing around the house.

It had been a tough week for them both. Ian sunk into a down episode late Tuesday afternoon, but only hit the worst of it on Friday. He’d been in bed for two days, before he’d managed to venture out for a shower on Sunday.

It’s Wednesday now, and he’s been up and about fairly regularly since then, but Mickey can still see the subtle slouch to his form, and the slowness in his body language and speech.

But he’s smiling subtly in their room now as he applies cologne and brushes out his damp hair. It’s only the second time they’ve done this, and he knows Ian’s trying a little harder this week because he’s recovering from the down episode, wanting to prove to his family that he’s doing better. But he also thinks Ian’s just a really sappy dude and is enjoying the fact that they’re starting traditions like a normal, functioning family and by the way he keeps glancing at Mickey, he might be a little overwhelmed that they’re now considered a joint-unit in the family too.

And Mickey’d been thinking about that all day, as he went about his business, going to work and picking up groceries. About how he really is part of the Gallagher clan now, from being trusted to take care of Ian during his episodes, to being expected to show up to all family events. Because he’s Ian’s _husband_ , and that’s still extremely mind-blowing to fathom.

It really feels like far cry from when they’d seemed to accept Mickey as a merely transient presence in the household. He's a permanent fixture.

“Alright, hurry the fuck up man.” Mickey huffs as he watches Ian seemingly decide that he doesn’t like how he’s styled his hair and begins to redo it altogether.

“We’re gonna be late to the party and it’s only down the fuckin’ stairs.”

Ian huffs a laugh but apparently decides to listen to Mickey and leaves his hair be. Instead, he moves back towards the bed to pull on the warm fuzzy sweater he’d laid out next to where Mickey’s sitting.

“You sure you don’t want to wear your one too, Mick?” He asks, shimmying his shoulders to show off the ugly sweater covering his form.

“Fuck off, we’re not wearing matching sweaters bitch.” He replies as he kicks a leg out at Ian’s ankle, who jumps out of the way with a giggle.

“Aww c’mon Mick, it’ll be a tradition,” he pulls open the chest drawer beside their bed and pulls out the green sweater that matches his own. He swings it around suggestively in front of Mickey’s face, waggling his eyebrows up and down like an idiot.

“Bet you’ll look sexy in this shade of green too,” he winks.

“Fuck off with that shit.” Mickey grumbles, but he’s suppressing a smile as he snatches the sweater out of Ian’s hands and pulls it over his head. He really does think it’s a stupid idea, but at least the sweater is comfortable, and the warm look on Ian’s face is worth the teasing he knows they’ll get from the group waiting downstairs.

“Can we go now?”

Ian grins and pulls him off the bed with both hands.

It’s already loud when they get downstairs, music up on almost full volume and voices competing to be heard above it. Liam and Franny are sitting at the dining table, inhaling plates full of brownies and ice cream, fresh out of the oven after an afternoon of chaotic baking with Ve and the twins. The twins in question could be located by their high-pitch squeals coming from the living room, where Kev was spinning them around, one under each arm.

When he spots them in the kitchen, he pauses his twirling and sends them a wide smirk.

“Heeey guys! How’s it going?”

Ian grins at him and reaches forward to clap him on the shoulder, and starts to chat with him about business at the Alibi, while Mickey drifts closer to the coffee table which is covered in an assortment of booze.

He grabs a beer to get started and sits down next to Sandy on the couch, who has her arm wrapped around Debbie’s shoulder, who’s chatting with Ve about preschools.

She turns to him when he plops down next to her and raises her eyebrows in sympathetic commiseration, and nods toward his sweater with a mocking smirk.

“Aww, cute sweaters. Were you tryin' to look like a matching set of old couches, or was that a happy bonus?”

Mickey just rolls his eyes at her and flips her the bird as he takes a long pull from his beer.

After about five minutes Lip and Tami announce themselves at the back door, minus Fred, holding a bag of Doritos and a jar of salsa respectively as they greet everyone with hugs— as if they don’t practically live in this house as well.

Lip claps his hands together and looks around at the alcohol littered living room.

“Well, I can’t wait to watch you all get fucked up,” he says with a sly look, “let’s get this shit started!”

****

An hour later and they’re in the middle in an intense game of charades, Lip is gesturing something violently at Tami, and Ian’s on one leg, flapping his arms like some sort of deranged flamingo.

Everyone is shouting out guesses, even though it really should just be Mickey and Tami guessing at the moment, until someone guesses The Godfather, and Lip wins the round.

Ian drops down next to Mickey in good-natured defeat, nudging his arm with his elbow as he sinks deeper into the couch, resting his head tiredly against Mickey’s shoulder. He’s one beer in, which is really enough to tide him through the night, and he’s been exerting much more energy than anyone had been expecting of him, whether in compensation for his slow mood or because he’s actually feeling better, Mickey’s not sure. But he does think the atmosphere of the evening has helped raise Ian’s spirits, because he’s smiling softly, albeit exhaustedly, as he watches his family’s raucous celebrations.

Debbie sends him a quick look before raising her eyebrows at Mickey in a silent question. He just nods at her in reassurance, because Ian really is fine, better than he’s been all week. Mickey is too, he thinks, as he watches Sandy and Kev get up to compete in the next round of charades.

Sitting here in the Gallagher living room, surrounded by booze bottles, empty chip packets and shouting adults, it’s theoretically exactly like the Milkovich household, where he never once felt safe or relaxed.

But really, it holds no resemblance to it at all. For one, he feels fully and blissfully content, with Ian leaning heavily against his side, and the people he now considers real family including him in their joviality. Even more, he feels absolutely safe here, knowing every single Gallagher, Ball, Milkovich- and even Tamietti— in this house would take care of him without a second thought, just as they’d care for Ian. He just has to think back to two weeks ago when Kevin and Debbie has chauffeured him around the Southside when Terry had made himself particularly present outside the Gallagher house to know this for sure.

Sandy had won the round apparently, because Debbie is shouting in victory and pulling Sandy down on top of her in a celebratory hug. Lip plops down next to Ian a shoves a glass of water into his hand with a knowing smile, and Mickey is reinvigorated with that deep appreciation for Ian’s— _his_ — family, for caring for Ian just as much as Mickey does.

Lip smiles at him over Ian’s head, before turning his attention back to Liam and Franny, who are now competing, and Mickey feels Ian take a deep breath against his shoulder.

“You good man?”

Ian doesn’t respond for a moment, busy rubbing his thumb against Mickey’s as the rest of their fingers slowly intertwine. His other hand plays with a fraying green thread hanging off of the sleeve of Mickey’s sweater, their arms are practically indistinguishable as the material of their clothes blend together. It makes Mickey reluctantly happy to see them meld together in that way.

Ian turns his head up slightly and looks at Mickey with those sappy puppy dog eyes, giving him a tired, but content smile.

“I’m perfect, Mick,” he whispers, smile widening before he returns his head to Mickey’s shoulder, going back to watching the others.

Mickey can’t help but agree.


	4. Baby take my hand pull me down, down, down

Mickey Milkovich loves Ian Gallagher’s stupid hero complex…

It’s half-past one when he hears Ian and Lip stumble through the back door, murmuring loudly considering the late hour.

He tenses somewhat when he hears the angry tone to Lip’s voice, although he can’t discern what they’re saying, he knows they’re arguing about something. Ian’s voice raises just enough for Mickey to hear him say,

“I’m fine ok? So drop it.”

This causes Mickey to sit up in bed, pulling the sheets down in preparation to go downstairs and find out what’s going on when he hears Ian’s footsteps coming up the stairs, and the back door closing as Lip leaves to walk home down the street.

The bathroom door shuts quietly and Mickey can hear water running as he waits tensely on the edge of the bed, blankets gripped tightly by his side.

Ian’s taking too long in the bathroom.

The water’s stopped, and he can’t hear any sounds, and yet Ian hasn’t snuck into their room, attempting to be sneaky (which is nearly impossible for the clumsy idiot), like he usually does after hanging out late with his brother.

A hiss of pain causes Mickey to jump out of bed and stomp straight to the bathroom. He pauses outside of the door and listens for anymore signs of distress, knowing Ian’ll likely try and hide whatever’s happened from him.

When he hears nothing more, he knocks softly and waits for a response.

It’s still for a minute, and then the door unlocks and swings open slightly, allowing Mickey to push his way inside, immediately pausing at the sight.

Ian’s at the sink holding a bloodied towel under the tap. His eyebrow has a small split in it, which is bleeding slowly, and his eye is starting to purple. Mickey’s sight immediately blurs with anger, as he moves forwards to grab onto Ian’s shoulder and turn him towards him.

“Who the fuck did this?” He demands, lifting Ian’s head up by the chin roughly. Ian flinches in response, causing Mickey to immediately soften, flatting his palm against Ian’s jaw and manoeuvring his face so he can get a better look at the injuries.

“What happened?” He whispers, much softer than he was a moment ago.

Ian’s face twists a little, as if he’s expecting to be berated, ducking his head down to look at the towel he’s now twisting in his hands. But when he looks back up at Mickey, he’s stubborn and determined, and he turns back to the sink to continue washing out the bloodied towel.

“Some guy was getting mugged. I helped him. I’m fine.” He states this tersely, not looking at Mickey at all, even as he tries to catch his eye in the mirror.

“The guy catch you in the face?”

Ian glances at him in the mirror and nods.

“It was just one lucky hit, nothing else happened.”

Mickey deflates a little, watching Ian’s defensive body language as he somewhat uselessly bustles around the sink. The anger is ebbing away slightly, turning into curiosity at Ian’s attitude. He’s still a little worried, the cut looks deep, and his eye sore, but the whole situation seems a little off.

“Are… you ok?”

Ian turns around then, and glares at him.

“I said I’m _fine_.”

He pushes past Mickey and stomps into the bedroom, shucking off his shirt as he goes. Mickey raises his eyebrows at the aggressive tone and follows Ian into the room, watching as he changes into some PJs.

“At least let me put some antiseptic on it man.”

“I’m fine, Mick! Fuck!” Ian slams the pyjama drawer shut harshly, and drops heavily onto the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands. Mickey feels himself grow a little defensive at this, even as his concern about Ian triples.

“Ok, what the fuck crawled up your ass and died man? I just asked if you’re ok.”

He stomps up so he’s standing infant of Ian, looking down at the back of his head.

Ian sighs bodily, shoulders moving up and down as he breathes deep to soothe himself. Mickey can see it working as the muscles in his back start to relax. He starts to nod and pulls his head up to look at Mickey, eyes a little guilty.

“You’re right— I’m sorry. I was just upset because I did it, and it felt so good. But then Lip-“ he cuts himself off with a frustrated huff. He twists around and crawls up the bed, climbing under the covers and lying back defeatedly.

Mickey watches him, letting himself relax out of his defensive state. Ian looks at him expectantly, obviously wanting him to jump into bed with him, but Mickey heads into the bathroom first, grabbing Ian’s first aid kit from out of the vanity.

He drops it down next to Ian and pulls out what he needs, going about properly cleaning and bandaging the cut on his eyebrow. It’s silent while he does this, and Ian closes his eyes, seeming to relax into Mickey’s hands as he takes care of him.

When he’s done, he packs the kit up and places in on the floor, swinging his feet up to shuffle under the covers with Ian.

“What’d Lip say?”

Ian rolls his eyes at the question and sits up a little more to match Mickey’s position in the bed.

“He— fuck. He just asked me if I was manic.”

And suddenly Ian’s behaviour makes sense. Because Ian Gallagher, no matter how accepting of his disease he was, would endlessly be defensive about it.

“I just felt so good helping that guy out Mick. It was exciting and I _saved_ him. It was nothing huge but— it was a good thing to do right?” He looks at Mickey with expectant eyes, but before he can think of anything to say, Ian’s carrying on.

“And then Lip looks at me like I’m insane, and he asks me if I’m manic. If I’m taking my meds. Saying it was impulsive or some shit.”

He sighs and deflates a little.

“I dunno. Just felt like shit.”

Mickey watches him for a minute. Watches him fiddle with his own fingers, shift his eyes downward, fold inwards a little bit. And he _understands_. Fuck, he understands. How frustrating would it be if every impulsive thing he did could be compared to the part of him he hated most? Especially if what he was doing was something so integral to his sense of self worth, just as Ian’s was tied to his ability to help other people.

And that shits always been so Ian. The need to help, protect, save. Its part of why he wanted to join the army, and it’s definitely why he loved being an EMT. Its that part of Ian that always has been— and always will be— his driving factor.

Mickey’s always admired this, in a way. As much as he doesn’t understand wanting to risk your ass for people who wouldn’t even pause to do the same for you, he’s grown reluctantly proud of the deterministic way Ian upkeeps his positivity about others. Because that’s what Ian is, he’s a carer, an emotional sap. Its what he is to the Gallagher family, its what he was to Mandy when she needed a friend, it’s definitely what he is to Mickey. And apparently, it’s what he wants to be to everybody else too.

“C’mere.” He sighs, rolling onto his side and wrapping an arm around Ian’s middle. Ian responds immediately, curling up into Mickey’s front and sighing against his collar bone. Mickey strokes at the back of his neck, playing with the baby hairs growing there. Ian’s breath is warming him up slowly, and the weight of Mickey’s arm seems to be soothing him in return.

“Was he big?” Mickey murmurs after a while, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What?”

“The guy whose ass you beat. Was he big?”

“I didn’t really beat his ass Mick,” Ian laughs, though he shuffles down a bit to look up at Mickey playfully, “but yeah, he was kind of a giant.”

“Then I guess that was pretty bad ass of you, huh?” He murmurs kissing the top of Ian’s head, squeezing him tight around the middle.

“Yeah? You think so?”

“Mmhm.”

“Thanks Mick.”

It’s quiet for a while again. Mickey feels Ian relax completely against him, probably drifting off to sleep, even as his hand rubs circles on Mickey’s lower back. But he can’t repress a small huff of laughter as he speaks again.

“You’re pretty cool you know. Mister hero man.”

He can feel Ian grin against his chest and wrap his arm tighter around him.

“Love you, Mick.”

“Mmm, love you too superman.”

Ian barks out a laugh, slapping his chest.

“Fuck off.”

Mickey’s laughing again, smirking as he whispers, “D’you have to wear glasses in public now, hide your identity?”

Ian sits up a bit and smothers a kiss to Mickey’s lips to stop him talking.

“Please shut the hell up and let me sleep.” He says, shuffling back down into the pillows.

“M’tired from saving the day.”

Mickey laughs and pulls him closer, closing his eyes against Ian’s hair. They’re warm and relaxed and Ian’s safe. He’s ok. And he’s the same Ian that Mickey’s always loved, that kid who can’t help trying to save everyone else.

He falls asleep with a grin on his face, and he can feel Ian grinning right back.


	5. I want you baby like you can't understand

Mickey Milkovich loves Ian Gallagher…

It’s in the little things, most of the time.

He loves how Ian can always calm him down with physical affection.

It’s on days when Terry is being a particular nuisance, that he finds Ian running his fingers down his arm absently, playing with Mickey’s wedding ring on the couch. It’s when he’s had a shitty day at work, teenagers giving him attitude and supervisors treating him like shit, that Ian massages gentle circles into his shoulders, locks their ankles under the dining room table. Or when he’s finding everything just a little overwhelming, and Ian will wrap himself around Mickey from behind, no matter where they happen to be, like he knows he acts as a security blanket that lets Mickey decompress for a moment.

He loves how Ian remembers the things he likes.

He brings him Snicker bars from the grocery store, always gets him the right brand of shampoo. He knows every single inch of his body, can always make him gasp or cry or squirm when he wants. He always splits the chores so that Ian does the vacuuming and Mickey does the dishes, because he knows Mickey enjoys the mechanical routine. Or he’ll make Mickey a cup of green tea before bed every night, because it calms him and because he knows Mickey’s too embarrassed to make _tea_ in front of everyone else.

He loves how Ian always seems to want him.

On early mornings, when Ian’s leaving to work a long shift, he’ll always wake him for a goodbye kiss. On days that they’ve both been working, he’ll climb into the shower with Mickey, or sit with him as he washes up after dinner, just to extend their time together. On afternoons where they’re both exhausted, tired out from interacting with other people and each other all day, he’ll make sure their legs are touching on the bed, even as he lets Mickey have his space because he respects that shit too.

Mickey really, _really_ loves the little things. Because it’s how he knows Ian really loves him too. Because it’s how he knows he’s really made it out of the life he hated, and into the one he’d never thought he’d get to have.

Mickey’s always been one for grand gestures. It’s his particular love language. He knows it’s not really Ian’s, so he’s fine with it, he’s content because he’s finally learned to understand how Ian expresses love in his own way.

But sometimes, it is the big things too.

Ian had booked a getaway for their big one year. It’s nothing that special, they’re still broke Southsiders, and they’re trying to save up for their own apartment soon.

So really, it’s nothing fancy.

But when Mickey walks into the three-star hotel room, and can see a peak of the ocean over their view of housing complexes and roads, and sees the crisp white sheets folded precisely with a little box of complementary chocolates nestled between the pillows— he’s pretty sure he’s never had it so good in his life.

And Ian’s planned a whole array of things to do in their little three-day escape. They burn their skin to a crisp by spending hours on end at the beach, basking on the sand and wrestling in the water. They visit about fifty restaurants, eating ten-times their weight every meal and not giving a shit about the bill because it’s their motherfucking _anniversary_.

Every night of their stay, he fucks Mickey up against the window, so they can stare out at the view and watch their reflection at the same time.

Mickey’s sure he’s never smiled so much in his life

And when Ian tells him he’d worked extra shifts for months to pay for all of this, instead of dipping into their steadily growing savings fund, Mickey feels like he’s been struck in the heart, right underneath the skin that has _Ian_ fucking _Gallagher_ etched into him for life.

Because _fuck_. There he’d been, just going about life, and Ian had been thinking and planning and working extra hard just so he could treat them. Treat Mickey.

Because it had been Mickey’s plan to get them to the beach, Ian had remembered that. And he’d known there would be no better present than some time alone for just the two of them.

“Jesus, Ian. You didn’t have to do that.”

“‘Course I didn’t,” murmurs Ian, pulling himself closer to Mickey on the bed, “but I fucking _wanted_ to, so I did.”

And Mickey can’t help but search his face for signs of a lie, or regret at having spent all that money and time on one trip away, but Ian’s face is absolutely sincere and open, and kind of disgustingly full of love on top of that.

It’s like Ian’s reading his mind in that moment, because he huffs out a laugh and presses himself up to kiss away Mickey’s concerns.

They’re naked, of course they are, because they’ve been in the room for two hours now after getting back from dinner, and what else would they have been doing before their little moment of repose?

So it doesn’t take Ian long to get things going again, and objectively the whole ordeal is a little tired and clumsy from having been done too many times in a row, but Mickey still spends the whole time thinking about how fucking perfect Ian Gallagher is.

***

In the morning as they’re getting ready to leave, Mickey takes a minute to stare at the back of Ian’s head as he packs a few final things, trying to sort out his mind. Even though they’re leaving this self-titled paradise, he’s detecting no resemblance of dread or regret about leaving anywhere inside of himself.

And well, maybe it’s because things are pretty fucking amazing right now.

Ian seems to feel Mickey’s vacant stare, because he turns around with his eyebrows raised curiously, a small inquisitive smile on the corner of his mouth.

Mickey feels dizzy looking at him.

“C’mere.” He gestures at Ian to stand between his legs where he’s sitting on the bed, so he has to crane his neck up to stare at him. Ian stares back, questioning smile turning into something softer and calm as he watches Mickey with a smitten look.

Mickey reaches up towards Ian’s neck, who has to bend down a bit so Mickey can grab him and pull him down into a lingering kiss.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t let Ian move more than a few inches away, so he can whisper against his lips.

“I love you, Ian.”

Ian pulls away a little further to look at him, eyes darting around his face, before they settle on Mickey’s lips. His own split into a wide smile as he leans forward and gives him a firm but brief kiss.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I'm also planning on writing a similar fic with Ians POV too, so hopefully I can get that done soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Titles based off the song 'Love on the Weekend' by John Mayer, it gives me early Gallavich vibes!


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